


Tuesdays With Morty

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, But I Don't Think They'll Show Up Much, Character Study, Depressed Morty Smith, Drabble Collection, Drunk Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Gentle Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Grandpa Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Grandparents & Grandchildren, How Do I Tag, I'll Add More When They're Relevant, I'm Bad At Tagging, Sad Morty Smith, Slice of Life, The Other Smiths Are Mentioned, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 7,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Following the doctor's - uh, therapist's - orders, Morty sets aside a specific day of the week to do nothing in particular. Rick goes along with it. Let's see what happens next.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith
Comments: 17
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Tuesday's child is full of grace."
> 
> -Old English nursery rhyme, Round Index Song #19526

“Look Rick, I’m just as unhappy as you are about this. But Dr. Wong says that for the sake of my sanity - if there’s any of it left in the first place - I have to ‘set aside a day to relax and reflect on my life and consider my future hopes, dreams, and aspirations.’ It might as well be Tuesday.” 

Morty clasps his hands as if he’s praying and in a way, he is.

“OK, fine. Whatever.” Rick belches and takes another sip from his flask. 

It’s mid-morning, the first Tuesday of Christmas break, and Rick and Morty have the whole house to themselves. 

Beth is out working, Jerry is out allegedly looking for work, and Summer is out at the mall or at the movies or whatever it is teenagers do for fun.

“Really?” Morty’s eyes widen, his pupils completely overtaking his irises. He sniffs and tugs nervously at his shirt collar. This might be a trick. Any second now Rick could grab him by said shirt collar, open up a portal, and drag Morty through it. He’s not supposed to do that anymore. He’s promised Beth he wouldn’t, but she’s not around to stop him.

“Really.” Rick yawns and rubs his sleeve across his eyes. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, which, given his general state of inebriation, is not abnormal. 

What is a little alarming to Morty is the large, pulsating purple bruise that nearly covers all of his grandfather’s forehead.

When he looks a little closer, Morty can see little imprints that look suspiciously like teeth marks.

Rick clears his throat loudly. 

“I know you’re quivering with anticipation. The long and short of it is that Grandpa Rick took a little trip to a bordello in Ursa Major. Let’s just say one of the girls there has her own version of ‘oral sex.’ Don’t worry, Morty, it looks a lot worse than it is.”

“I-I’m not worried.” 

Morty’s face reddens. He quickly shifts his gaze to his phone and pretends to be absorbed in a nonexistent text message. He absently eats a spoonful of cereal and feels the heat of Rick’s stare. When he can’t bear it anymore, he looks up and straight into Rick’s eyes.

“Wh-what’s up, Rick? I said I’m n-n-not worried. Why would you think that?” 

Morty bites his upper lip until he tastes blood. It seeps through his teeth and dribbles slowly down his chin.

“Here.” Rick scoffs in disgust as he hands Morty his mostly unused napkin.

“Um…” Morty titters nervously and hesitates. There is a dark wet smudge in the middle of it.

“Christ, Morty, that’s a grease stain from the bacon! You know I always put my bacon on a napkin. I don’t want it getting slathered in with the eggs and grits. Wipe your mouth before you bleed all over the table.”

“But -” Before he can object, Rick grabs the napkin from him. “But nothing, Morty! You’re 14 years old, so stop acting like a goddamn baby. Come here!” He grouses disapprovingly and wipes the blood off of Morty’s mouth with unnecessary force, but his eyes glint with a subtle sheen of amusement.


	2. Chapter 2

“R-Rick, you’ve gotta help me. Please!”

Rick looks up from the blueprint of a new phaser he’s trying to build and sees Morty standing with his arms clenched around his stomach, nervously tapping his feet against the floor. He looks like he has a massive stomach ache, like he is about to get the runs.

“What did you do this time? Did you go through my medicine cabinet after I specifically told you not to?” He grins in grim satisfaction as Morty’s eyes bulge and he nods his head furiously. “And did you open the little amber colored bottle labeled ‘DRINK ME?’”

Morty nods again and whimpers pitifully. “I’m s-sorry, Rick! I w-won’t do it again. I was b-bored.”

“Really.” Rick rolls up the blueprint and stuffs it in the top drawer of his work station. “Well, I wish I could say I’m surprised, but you know me. I’m a terrible liar. I’m not even disappointed. I have a very low tolerance for boredom, too.” He chuckles and ruffles Morty’s hair. “You’re my grandson, alright. No doubt about it.” 

He burps and laughs dizzily.

“Aw hell, Morty. You caught me in a rare moment of semi-sobriety. The drink is just starting to take effect. Now, whataya want me to do?”

“H-help me, Rick! Tell me what that stuff was. What’s it gonna do to me?” Morty is so scared he moans and heaves a pile of vomit on the floor by Rick’s feet. “Yuck.” Rick sidesteps the mess and picks Morty up. He holds him like a baby and carries him into the house, his weight dense and soft. Rick will never say it out loud, but he misses holding Morty like this. He sighs and rubs his cheek against Morty’s affectionately.

“Wh-what the hell are you doing, Rick? You’re k-kind of freaking me out.” Morty cringes and turns away from him. “P-put me down. Please.”

Rick complies, laying Morty on the couch on his back. He presses the back of his hand against Morty’s forehead. “That’s good. You don’t have a fever, at least.” He pulls the bright blue afghan blanket off the back of the couch and covers Morty up. “You probably will, though, at some point.” He leans down and impulsively kisses Morty’s cheek.

“What you drank is my attempt at combining alcohol and an alien laxative from Andromeda. I'm sorry to say that it’s going to make you really uncomfortable. You’ll feel like you have to take a massive shit, but you won’t be able to. At least not for a few hours.”

Morty’s face contorts. “B-but it’s been almost three hours since I drank the stuff!"

His face turns bright pink at the sound of his bowels letting loose. Rick gags and backs away, fanning his hand in front of his face.

“Ugh, I’m too sober for this shit. Literally.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Rick? H-hey Rick. Rick!”

Rick is so startled he nearly rolls out of bed. His heart pounds and his eyes narrow as they focus on Morty standing at the end of the bed. 

He looks at the digital clock on the mantle and groans.

“It’s 3:30 in the morning, Morty. What the fuck do you want?”

Morty frowns and cringes at his grandfather’s use of ‘the baddest word,’ as his third grade teacher had explained it to him when he first used it himself.

Rick burps and clears his throat before trying again. 

“What I meant to say was...Morty, it’s very, very early. Normally, as you know, I don’t pay attention to little things like the circadian rhythms of average, everyday sheeple. But I’m not as young as I used to be, and dammit I’m starting to feel it. This last mission of ours has left me wiped out. So what’s up?”

Morty frowns again and chews on his lower lip. 

It’s a nervous habit that was endearing when he was four, but ten years later makes him look like the pathetic wuss Rick is trying to beat out of him. 

Figuratively speaking, of course.

“Spit it out! I mean, just tell me, Morty. I already feel like a bag of dicks for reacting the way I did - even though you know better than to wake me up, unless it’s an absolute emergency - so tell me. Do you need me to rough up some asshole for you? Or get one of my alien acquaintances to do said roughing up? C’mon Morty.”

Rick scoots over a little and pats the space beside him.

Morty’s eyes widen in surprise. Before Rick changes his mind - before he grins and shoves him to the ground, laughing maniacally - Morty sits down on the bed, his legs crossed under him. The so-called ‘bed’ is actually an old black velour fold out futon that used to belong to his mother when she was a teenager. Logically, Morty knows that of course there was a time when his mother was a teenager who went through similar trials and tribulations as him. But it happened so long ago; the concept is misty and surreal, like one of Grimm’s fairy tales.

“W-well…” Morty stutters and tugs at the collar of his T-shirt. It’s some generic black shirt with a rock band’s logo. 

It has only been at Rick’s insistence that Morty’s stopped wearing fluffy footie pajamas and now wears T-shirts and black and red plaid shorts to sleep in.

Rick grunts and takes a deep breath to stay patient. He looks at the clock again and sees that it’s now 3:40. He’s already lost 10 precious minutes of rest because of this bullshit. 

“Out with it, kid. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Morty snickers at the sudden drawl in Rick’s voice. 

_[After months of digging through photo albums and scouring documents at the local library, Morty knows that his grandfather was born Ricardo Ernesto Rodrigo Sanchez, Jr., in Houston, Texas. His great-grandfather was a Mexican migrant worker, his great-grandmother Lou Anne Hicks a bright-eyed, buck-toothed 16-year-old girl who wanted to piss her daddy off by sleeping with the help...]_

“Yeah, OK. Basically, Rick, I’m here because I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see stuff I’d rather not. I don’t really feel like elaborating, let’s just say it’s some bad, bad shit.”

“So what do you want from me? Why don’t you go crawl into bed with Beth and Jerry like you used to? You know they won’t mind or think any less of you.” _Shit,_ Rick thinks. _Now I’ve basically told Morty that I think less of him because he gets scared and occasionally it’s too much for him to handle on his own. Poor kid. I guess I’m not getting that **‘Best Grandpa Ever** ’ coffee mug I wanted for Christmas after all. Damn._

“I j-just thought...I d-don’t want Mom or Dad...I w-w-want you, Rick.” Even in the dimness, Rick can practically see that Morty’s cheeks are turning red.

“OK.” Rick yawns and lays down. He turns over to face Morty and scowls.

“What are you waiting for, an invitation? OK, here it is: Morty, would you please do me the honor of laying down and facing away from me, so that I can spoon you?”

“U-um...sure, OK.” Morty lays down. Rick belches and slings an arm over Morty’s stomach. “Good night, I guess. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

In just a few hours, his parents and sister will wake up. They’ll open the front door and come out into the garage and find Rick holding Morty in his arms. 

Beth will ignore it, Jerry will file it away in his expansive mental folder of grievances against his father-in-law, and Summer will record the moment on Snapchat and ridicule her ‘boozy Grandpa Rick and birdbrained baby brother’ when she uploads the video to YouTube.

But in the meantime, Morty will savor this rare moment of affection from the one person he should hate, but who he instead loves most in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

“Morty. Morty. Morty.” Rick repeats his name over and over, and finally wakes Morty with a not-so-gentle kick in the side. 

“Owww!” Morty shrieks and jumps up so fast the back of his head hits the Christmas tree.

He knocks several ornaments to the floor and a few pine needles tangle in his lank brown hair. 

“Rick! What the fuck did you do that for?” He sniffles and frowns tearfully as he clutches his side. “Gee, thanks, now my skin’s gonna be black and blue.”

Rick huffs and drags a hand down his face. “OK Morty, that was admittedly a dick move. Will you **_please_** get out of the way so I can go to the kitchen and get a drink?”

Morty throws his head back and howls like a wolf at the moon. “It’s Christmas Eve, Rick, and of all things, **_that's_** what you care about? Jeez.” He whimpers and sits up. At some point, he fell asleep on the floor underneath the Christmas tree. 

Beth and Jerry are at the mall doing some literal last minute shopping. Beth is at a party with some friends. It is 10:00 at night, and soon enough it will be Christmas Day. It’s the most anticipated day of the year, in the most wonderful time of the year, and honestly, Rick can’t handle it.

Last Christmas had definitely been weird, but back then he’d had Beth and Jerry and Summer, even Jerry’s parents and their lover, around to make the time pass faster.

Now, thanks to Dr. _**Wrong**_ , Rick feels he has no choice but to put forth more of an effort to spend ‘quality time’ with Morty. As if all of the crazy adventures they’ve gone on in the last year don’t constitute quality time.

Apparently, they don’t, because according to Morty - and he supposes Dr. Dingaling by extension - time only becomes ‘quality’ when it’s spent doing something he wants to do. Fair enough.

Rick sighs and bends down to help Morty stand up. The kid winces and staggers, and Rick feels a wave of real pity and shame for what he’s done. He lifts the end of the ugly psychedelic sweater Morty’s wearing to expose the bruised, swollen skin where Rick’s boot hit him. Christ, Rick’s forgotten he’s wearing steel toed snow boots. He’s really hurt him.

Rick forgets all about the drink and picks Morty up. He ignores the teen’s protests to put him down, dammit, and carries him into the master bath in Beth and Jerry’s bedroom. “Hush, quit your squawking. I did this to you, Morty, and now I’m gonna fix it. Now, stand still while I have a look around.”

While Morty quivers and cries and bites his lip in an effort to hide how much he’s hurting, Rick washes his hands, puts on a pair of latex gloves, and puts a box of bandages and a bottle of Bactine on the countertop. Seeing Morty’s eyes widen, Rick scoffs and shakes his head. 

“Believe me, if I had access to something better, I’d use it. Your mother confiscated my portal gun until Thursday, so we have to just make do with what we’ve got.”

“Uh, OK.” Morty sniffs and lifts his sweater so Rick can spray it with the Bactine. The lidocaine dulls the pain. Rick’s brow furrows and he sticks his tongue out as he concentrates on arranging the bandage in just the right spot. He tears off a few strands of medical tape to hold it in place.

“There!” he says triumphantly, and gently pats the skin above the bandage. 

Morty pulls his sweater down and wipes the snot that’s dripped from his nostrils, fueled by nearly ten minutes of tears. Rick pulls the gloves off and throws them away. He awkwardly slings an arm around Morty’s shoulder and pulls him toward him to kiss the side of his head.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

Morty pulls away from Rick and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Of course I know, Rick. Thanks for...you know. Well, I guess I’m gonna go to bed now. See you in the morning. Merry Christmas, Rick.”

“Yeah, yeah, Merry Christmas, Morty.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. You’re not ringing in the New Year with that shit. Gimme that.”

Rick jerks the small 6 oz. can out of Morty’s hand so forcefully that he drops it. The cheap, generic fruity beer Summer bought for him at the gas station with her fake ID seeps into the forest-green shag rug under the coffee table. Morty whimpers and flails his arms wildly while Rick picks the can up and glances over its nutrition information.

“Shh, quit your bitching. Grandpa’s trying to read.” 

Rick reluctantly reaches into the pocket of his lab coat for the white plastic case with the black reading glasses he bought for $2.14 at the Dollar Tree earlier in the day. “Jeez Morty, if this is your attempt at some angsty teenage rebellion, you could do a lot better. This crap has a 3% alcohol content. You’d get more of a buzz if you drank a few swigs of Nyquil.”

He burps and takes Morty’s hand. He drags him along to the kitchen and tosses the little aluminum can in the trash. He knows Beth insists the whole family recycle, but he is reassured by the knowledge that she rummages through the garbage for any discarded plastic bits, anyway.

“Sit down,” he orders and opens the refrigerator. Morty obeys and absently rubs his shoulder as Rick takes out the 2L bottle of ginger ale, the can of whipped cream, and a bottle of grenadine syrup.

“Um, Rick, call me crazy, but I think a Dirty Shirley is just about as pathetic as -”

Morty’s voice trails off when he sees Rick take the flask out of his back open, unscrew the top, and pour all of its contents into a 12 oz. glass. He fills the rest of the glass with ginger ale, squirts a few drops of grenadine, a few sprays of whipped cream, and puts a cherry on top.

“This isn’t your average Dirty Shirley, Morty. It’s **_the Dirtiest Shirley_**.” Rick hands Morty the glass and smiles as he takes three quick, deep sips. Almost immediately, his eyes glaze over and he holds the sides of his head.

“Whoa, holy shit, Rick! I didn’t think it would affect me so fast. What did you put in it?”

“Oh, nothing special. Just my own special brew. Lots of alien whiskey and stuff you wouldn’t know. Oh, and about 175 ml of Benadryl.”

“Wh-what?” Morty’s eyes narrow accusingly as they begin to drift closed. “You mixed Benadryl and alcohol? God, Rick, you must really want me out of the way for some reason…”

Rick catches Morty as he falls asleep mid-sentence. “Not really. I just don’t wanna have to sit through hours of what passes for entertainment for your generation.”

Rick carries Morty to his bedroom and tucks him in fully clothed. He leans down and presses their foreheads together. “Happy New Year, Morty.” Then, because neither of them will remember in the morning, Rick whispers, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, readers.


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m a loser, Morty. I’m such a fucking loser.” Rick sniffs and sobs and tilts his head back to down the rest of his drink. 

It’s been pretty cold lately, so today his drink of choice is a hot toddy. It’s made with bourbon, whiskey, honey, lemon juice, and boiling water.

The only reason it doesn’t have any extraterrestrial ingredients in it is because he was too drunk to mix it himself and had to ask Morty to. 

He can’t have his sweet, dimwitted grandson screwing around with that shit.

“Don’t say that.” Morty frowns and shakes his head. He takes a sip of his own drink, which when Rick asks he swears is nothing more than water with lemon juice and honey. He awkwardly pats Rick’s hand sympathetically. “You’re the smartest person - **_the smartest being_** \- in the universe. You’re hardly a loser.”

“Th-thanks, Morty. While all that m-may be true, I know you’re j-just blowing smoke up m-my ass.” Rick slurs and laughs dizzily. “Y-you’re a good kid. I am smart - th-that’s like the un-understatement of the m-millenium - but I’m not using my smarts to ‘better society.’ I d-don’t give a shit about society. I’m…'antisocial.’” 

He burps and makes dramatic air quotes around the word. “That seems to be the general c-consensus, anyway.”

“Um.” Morty doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s the truth. He can’t lie and say that Rick is really a good person, deep down. He makes no secret that he hates virtually everyone, the few exceptions being Beth, Morty, and maybe Summer. Morty can’t be too sure of that, especially since Rick seems to blame Summer for ruining Beth’s life.

“You’re…” Morty takes another sip and twists the bendy part of the straw between his fingers. “You’re here, and that’s what counts. That’s more than I can say about anybody else in my life.” The magnitude of his words startle Rick, who stares at Morty as if he is some newly discovered carbon-based life-form.“I’m _‘here?’_ That’s what somehow makes me not a loser?

“Well, yeah. You’re here _**now,**_ I mean. I know you weren’t around for Mom growing up. Heck, me and Summer didn't even know you existed until you walked through our door last year. You’re here with us now. You’re here with me now, I mean. Y-you’re important to me, Rick, is all I’m saying.” 

Morty coughs and blushes. He hopes Rick will chalk it up to the single finger of whiskey he added to his own glass, which Rick pretends not to know about.

Rick burps and laughs and slaps Morty on the back. “Ha, whataya know? I’m important to you, huh? Thanks, Morty. You’re important to me, too.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you OK, Rick? Do you want me to go get you some water or something?”

Rick sighs heavily and drags a hand down his face. “No, Morty. I don’t want _‘some water or something.’_ All I want is my portal gun so I can get the fuck out of here.”

“B-but you can’t do that! You might have another heart attack. I d-don’t want anything to happen to you.” Morty’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears. He sits down uneasily on the edge of the bed and stares at Rick in frantic stupefaction. If he looks away for a single moment, Rick may disappear.

“Oh Christ, kid. Do you really think something as insignificant as a little myocardial infarction can take me out? I’m the most intelligent lifeform on Earth, possibly in this entire galaxy. Do you honestly think something like this could kill me?”

Morty sniffs and bites his bottom lip. He breathes deeply through his nose. “You may be the most intelligent lifeform in the galaxy, but you’re still mortal, Rick. Unless you’ve evolved into some sort of god and just didn’t tell me.”

Rick frowns and grips Morty’s chin. “That may be a possibility at some point in the future, but not yet. I don’t know why this happened, but it’s not the end of the road. You’ve seen me in worse straits than this, Morty. Heck, you’ve seen me shot, stabbed, and literally ripped apart. I always come back, Morty.”

“You’ve always come back so far.” Morty takes a deep breath and wipes his sleeve across his face. “But you don’t have access to any of your gadgets now. There’s nothing you can do to bring yourself back. You can’t die. That can’t happen, Rick. I won’t let it.”

“Yeah?” Rick smiles wanly and pinches Morty’s cheek. “And what exactly are you gonna do to stop it?”

Morty tilts his head and leans into Rick’s palm. 

“I don’t know,” he stammers. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. But I’d do whatever it takes to get you back, Rick. You can’t leave me.”

Rick chuckles and traces the contours of Morty’s jaw with his thumb. Morty resembles that dumbass Jerry more than Beth. In fact, if it weren’t for the boy’s distinctive Sanchez nose - and the fact that Rick was present at the moment of Morty’s birth - he never would have believed that he was Beth’s biological son. Not in this reality.

“Don’t worry, Morty. I’m not going anywhere.” Rick yawns and leans his head back against the pillow. “Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of here. When do you think your mom will let me leave?”

Morty eases into the space beside Rick and nestles against him. “Well, assuming you don’t have any complications, you’ll have to stay in the hospital for at least 2-3 days. If Mom has her way, you’ll be here a week. You’ll have to get used to the lukewarm coffee and soggy mashed potatoes.”

“Damn. At least you’ll be here.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Why are we here, Rick? Why do I have to do this?”

Morty pouts and blinks his eyes to keep from crying. He’s not a little kid anymore. He’s almost 15, almost ready to start driving.

He has seen Rick kill people, seen other people try to kill him. He has lost count of how many times his own life has been endangered. He has seen entire civilizations brought to ruin. All this, and yet he is afraid of a little needle.

Rick takes a deep breath so he won’t say something too cruel and make him cry. 

The kid has been through an awful lot since he came into the picture. He’s pretty well adjusted, considering. Rick takes some comfort in the fact that Morty is still capable of feeling fear. He somehow hasn’t turned into a mechanical, mostly unemotional sociopath like him. Not yet.

“It’s gonna be OK, Morty. We’re only here because your mother insisted I bring you here to get vaccinated. Apparently, the flu’s pretty bad this year. I thought about telling her not to bother. I mean, there are literally hundreds of different strains of the flu virus, and the vaccine’s only good for a small amount. It makes no damn sense to me. But, if it makes her feel better, and if it gets her off my back, I say let’s go for it.”

By ‘here’ he means the urgent care clinic a few blocks away from Morty’s high school. Rick hates going out in public among the rabble, and normally he’d have to drink a few Tall Boys just to be able to tolerate it. 

But, he’s promised Beth he wouldn’t go to the clinic drunk. He loves Beth enough to keep his promise, and he loves Morty enough not to want to embarrass him too badly. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“O-OK, Rick.” Morty smiles awkwardly and holds up his pointer and middle fingers in a peace sign. 

“Oh my god. Please don’t ever do that again.” Rick grabs Morty’s fingers and forcibly bends them down. 

“O-ow! What’d you do that for? I think you sprained ‘em!” he whimpers.

“Don’t be such a wimp, Morty. Look, try to bend your fingers for me. See? You’re fine! I’m sure they’ll be bruised later, but we’ll put ice on them when we get home.”

Rick kisses his fingers so quickly Morty wonders if he's imagined it. Rick sighs and taps his foot impatiently. 

“I wonder how much longer we’ll have to wait. Hell, I could have phased to the planet where they’ve cured the flu and brought you the vaccine that prevents all strains of the virus. But oh yeah, I’m not allowed to use the portal gun on Tuesdays.”

“That’s right, you’re not. But, you know, next year, if you want, you can totally do that and just give me the vaccine that’ll keep me from having to get another one ever again.”

“Yeah,” Rick says softly. “I’ll do that. I promise.”


	9. Chapter 9

Rick drapes a damp, wrung out washcloth over Morty's forehead. 

Cool water trickles down his face and drips onto the pillow. Morty turns his head to wipe it off. 

He looks up into Rick's bloodshot brown eyes, narrowed in concern, his brow furrowed. 

Thin wrinkles have formed underneath his eyes. 

He holds a Styrofoam cup with a bendy straw up to Morty's lips. "Drink this."

"What is it?" Morty frowns and then turns his head away a little. "What did you put in there?"

Rick sighs and pulls the cup away from him. "It's something that'll make you feel all better, but if you're gonna be a prude about it, you can take some frankincense capsules or use some of Beth’s essential oils. You'll be miserable for hours. Which means _I'll_ be miserable. Boy, oh boy."

Rick sets the cup down and reaches for Morty's hand. His lips curve into a tight, bitter smile. 

Morty's muscles ache. He feels like he is falling from a cliff. He can't keep anything down, and angry red welts have broken out across his arms, legs, and stomach. He has a burning fever so hot that Rick's hand feels like an ice cube on his skin.

Morty inhales deeply and passes out. Rick's shouts and the pain cause him to wake again.

“‘M here,” he slurs lethargically. “‘M OK, Rick.”

**_“Like hell you are!”_** Rick’s eyes widen. His voice breaks and he sniffs deeply and blinks away the hint of tears. 

Morty needs him to be strong. He can’t show any sign of weakness or fear.

“Dammit, Morty, I **told** you not to wander off without me! _ **I warned you**_ about those fuckin’ moon spiders! I told you their venom could paralyze you. But oh, no, you had to go off and look around in the craters. **_Why,_** Morty?”

“‘M...s-sorry, Rick. I d-didn’t mean to -”

“To what? To disobey me, again? **_Like you always do._** I honestly don’t know why I even bother opening my mouth and wasting my breath! You’re going to do exactly what you want to do, to hell with everybody else! You know what, though? Two can play that game!”

Rick grabs Morty’s face and pries his jaw open. He takes the cup and sticks the straw into his mouth. Morty’s teeth clack together. 

“Now take a sip! Drink it, you little shit! Do it!” 

Morty sucks on the straw until the cup is empty. He turns on his side away from Rick and shivers. He is so cold he has forgotten what warmth is. 

He whimpers and moans, and it's the most terrifying sound Rick has ever heard. He lifts the covers and slides into the bed beside Morty, pulling him against him.

“That’s good, you’ll be OK soon. You can go to sleep now. I’m here.”

Morty settles into the curve of his arm, Rick's chest pressed against his cheek, his fingers threading through Morty's hair. 

Rick rubs the top of Morty’s head until he falls asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

“Get in the water.”

Morty frowns and bites his lower lip. He wants to do as Rick says, but the truth of the matter is —

“I can’t swim.” He stammers awkwardly and clasps his arms behind his back.

Admitting that he can’t swim at nearly 15 years old is one of the most embarrassing things he’s ever done. 

And he’s done an awful lot of embarrassing things, especially since Rick moved in.

“Bullshit,” Rick says goodnaturedly. “Do what I said and get in here.” He beckons him forward, but Morty stays right where he is. “I c-can’t, Rick. I’m so-sorry.”

“Come on, Morty! At least get on the top step. Don’t worry, the water’s fine.”

Back at home, their family is enduring torrential rainfall and near freezing temperatures.

But here - some resort spa he’s forgotten the name of - there is an indoor pool with heated water that he’s rented out for the whole day. 

Morty has had a tough time at school lately, and Rick has convinced him to take just one day off. A mental health day.

He’ll have to go back tomorrow, but for now, Morty wants to make the most of this time with Rick. His individual sessions with Dr. Wong are going well. 

That might have something to do with the antidepressant he’s been prescribed, but Morty knows it has more to do with the obvious effort Rick has made into putting him first, once a week.

“Alright.” Morty smiles and steps into the shallow end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I know this is only half as long as my chapters usually are, but I got a very late start. I am adamant about having something completed every Tuesday. Even though it's very brief, I hope it manages to be somewhat meaningful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second week in a row I've only written around 250 words. 
> 
> I'm sorry for it, but between school and work it's all I can do sometimes. That being said, I hope it's decent.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I'll do my best to get back in the groove of things next week.

“Hey Rick, can you pass me the scissors?” Morty turns to face his grandfather and holds out his hand expectantly.

“Uh, yeah, gimme a minute. I think I put ‘em in the drawer under the tape.”

He did. He finds the pair of black handled, child-friendly scissors and sets them down on the table in front of Morty, who frowns and rolls his eyes.

“Jeez, Rick, you can’t even do one simple thing. I told you to pass them to me, meaning to put them in my hand! Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” Rick burps and walks to the fridge. 

He’s disappointed, but not surprised, to find that there are no drinks left. 

Not even the cheap-ass beer Jerry occasionally indulges in, when he wants to feel like he’s living on the wild side.

“Damn.” Rick huffs and slams the door so hard that he breaks the handle. 

“Aw, shit! You see what happens when Grandpa runs out of booze? Oh, well. I’ll wrap some duct tape around it, and it’ll be good as new. Well, it’ll work until Beth can call the guy to fix it. C’mon Morty, we’re gonna open a portal to the supermarket for more goods. What, why’re you looking at me like that?”

By ‘that,’ Rick means that Morty’s lower lip is poking out. 

“You can’t go. It’s **_Tuesday,_** Rick. No portal guns, no leaving, no kidnapping me. You _**promised**_ **!”**

He did. Rick groans and heads to the bathroom for some mouthwash. 


	12. Chapter 12

Rick doesn't realize Morty is sick until he snorts himself awake from a fucked up drunken dream.

He is sitting on the couch in the living room, and Morty is curled up, his head resting on Rick's lap. His small, skinny body radiates feverish heat, the soft brown hair around his neck and forehead curling and sticking out with sweat. Rick yawns and takes the skin of Morty's earlobe between his fingers, kisses his cheek.

When Morty was little, he was terrified of Rick. He would only let him touch him when he was sick, when he would curl his whole body up into Rick's lap to sleep. Now, when every passing day brings him closer to 15, when he is mere weeks away from starting driver's ed, Rick is pleasantly surprised that he is still able to show Morty some affection, regardless of how meager.

Rick knows that Beth and Jerry - even Summer - all love him in their own ways. But the Smiths are not and never have been an affectionate, touchy-feely family. Nor for that matter were the Sanchezes. Rick can't remember his own parents ever hugging him or telling him that they loved him. 

With Beth, he had repeated the cycle, more or less. And he'd been able to handle it, and she had, too. It occurs to Rick that, whether they'd been able to or not, they'd had no choice in the matter. He can't understand why Jerry is so loath to express his love towards his son, but he also doesn't really care. Jerry Smith is a waste, a lower life form, a nonentity. The best part about him is the particular sperm that penetrated and fertilized the egg in Beth's womb that became Mortimer Richard Smith.

Rick cringes and burps at the thought of his daughter and son-in-law making the beast with two backs. His horror is replaced with concern and a rush of love when Morty coughs and stirs in his lap. "Oh h-hey Morty, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts," he whines. "My ears hurt."

"W-well yeah, you-you've got a sinus infection. And you have drainage in your ears. It's painful, I know, but nothing we can't fix with a few Motrin. Unless you want something stronger?"

“N-no thanks. I just gotta go to…”

“Bullshit, Morty, you’re not going anywhere. G-g-get that idea out of your head right now!” 

He bristles and snarls. A few drops of spittle hit Morty’s face, and he slowly sits up. He is pale and shaky and miserable, and all Rick wants is for him to lay back down and sleep until he feels better.

Morty slowly stands up and staggers his way toward the hall. “Jeez Rick, I just gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in like, 5 minutes.”

“Oh…” Rick laughs and shakes his head. “Good. I mean, yeah, you go do that, and I’ll go get you that Motrin and some milk.” And a tallboy, while he’s at it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, here is yet another very short drabble, about 250 words. As Norman Osborn told Aunt May in the first "Spider-Man" movie, work was murder. Oh well, I hope it's at least decent. I made the assumption that Morty's birthday is February 21, the same as Justin Roiland's.

Rick's eyes narrow angrily at the sight of his grandson's tears.

"What's wrong, Morty? Are you hurt? Do you need Grandpa Rick to kick some asses for you?"

Morty snorts with laughter through his tears, spewing a small gob of snot on his cheeks.

"N-no thanks, Rick, I'll be OK. Y-you don't...you don't need to kick any asses for me."

He grins unconvincingly, but Rick's frown widens as he drapes his arm over Morty's shoulders.

He does it without thinking, and at this point it's second nature. 

Morty is 15 now, as of last Saturday, but if he had been expecting some kind of magical rite of passage, he was sorely mistaken.

In fact, apart from Summer, who slapped the back of his head and said "happy birthday, loser," and Rick, who bought him a king size Hershey bar, no one else seems to have remembered.

Morty seemed unfazed by it for the next few days, but today he can't hide it anymore. 

He's devastated, to say the least, and unlike Rick, he doesn't use fermented beverages to dull the onslaught of his sadness and self-loathing. 

"Hey, that's it!" Rick's eyes take on a manic gleam and he takes off, pulling Morty after him so quickly that he gets whiplash. 

"Just this once, forget about the Tuesday ban on booze, OK Morty? And traveling through portals and such. Your grandpa knows a little dwarf planet where the legal drinking age is 15. C'mon, buddy, the drinks are on me."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes 3-4 times in a row I've capped out at 250 words. Oh well, life happens. Depression, and all that. From now on, I'll try to not set a word limit and just write what I feel. You all seem to like it enough, anyway. Thanks for reading.

Morty wakes up to the sound of Rick screaming. 

He shoots out of bed and runs to the garage, where he finds Rick sitting up on his futon, his eyes wide open and unseeing as he keeps screaming at some horrible phantom.

 _ **"No me toques, dejame en paz. Ten misericordia, Papi, ¡por favor!"**_ His face and eyes are beet red. 

Morty's heart races. In all of their travels, after everything they have seen, he has never seen Rick act this way.

When he approaches him, Morty keeps his tone low and calm. "Hey Rick, it's Morty. I don't know what's happening to you, but...you're not alone. I'm here with you, Rick. I'm right here."

He reaches out and tentatively places his hand on his shoulder. Rick howls in response and punches Morty in the face so hard that he almost passes out.

He blinks and shakes his head like he's at a heavy metal concert to stay conscious. He gently tightens his hold on Rick's shoulder. "I'm here, Rick," he says again, a little more forcefully.

Rick takes a deep, stuttering breath and closes his eyes. He wraps his arms around Morty’s thin frame and pulls him toward him, burying his face in Morty’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says simply, his voice gruff and tearful. “Sorry to wake you. I guess you could say I was having night terrors. Go back to bed, it’s late. You have school in the morning.”

“It’s fine,” Morty says. “I’m taking the day off.”


	15. Chapter 15

Morty hasn't been to school in almost a week. That one day he took off to be with Rick has turned into seven. But that’s fine. 

Morty has decided that he’s never going back to school again.

“Why’s that?” Rick asks when he tells him. “I’ve already asked, but really Morty, if you need me to kick somebody’s -”

“No, Rick, I’m fine. Really I’m just...tired, you know?” He frowns and looks down at his shoes, the black cordovans faded and in bad need of a shining. 

He hates these shoes, only wearing them to funerals, weddings, or in this case a job interview at Shake Shack, after getting his work permit.

Rick exhales slowly and rubs his chin. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s like I’ve been saying pretty much since I got here: school’s just a waste of time. It’s not a place for smart people.”

He’s surprised when he feels Morty’s hand on his back, the press of his lips to his cheek. 

Since the start of the new year, Morty has become much more expressive in his affection, more tactile.

The toxic hyper-masculinity of the world around them demands that they not show their emotions openly. 

At 15, the fact that Morty does not fit said toxic hyper-masculine mold has made him an object of ridicule at the school.

"Sissy," they call him, "faggot." 

They mutter in low tones, just above a whisper.

The world, and everyone in it, can kindly go and fuck themselves.


	16. Chapter 16

"Good morning, Rick. Happy St. Patrick's Day."

As part of their new Tuesday morning ritual, Morty leans down to kiss Rick's cheek. He grimaces at the powerful scent of alcohol wafting from his breath. 

It's not even 9:00, and Rick is already three sheets to the wind.

He has built up enough self-confidence by now that on any other Tuesday, he would call Rick out for it. But it's St. Patrick's Day, so Rick gets a pass this time. 

After all, Patrick was the patron saint of drunks, or whatever.

“Mornin’, Morty. Happy St. Paaaat-riiiick’s Day,” Rick belches, his eyes shining with something more than just the buzz. 

He slings an arm around Morty’s neck and drags him down to his level. “Y’know,” he slurs, “I need another drink.”

“Do you?” Morty laughs and wriggles out of Rick’s hold. “Do you really?”

“ _ **Yes!**_ ” Rick insists. He is practically shouting. “I need more beer! It’s practically my name day, Morty!”

“Name day? What’s that?”

“Oh, right, I never told ya. You know we share the same birthday -” when he sees Morty’s surprised look, he realizes he hadn't, in fact, known - “but a name day is like the feast day for the patron saint you’re named after. I know you’ve been raised in a nonreligious household - thank god - but I was raised Catholic. So today’s my saint’s day. Rick, Pat _ **RICK**_ , you get it. Now, be a good boy and bring Grandpa some more Guinness.”

Morty rolls his eyes and complies.


	17. Chapter 17

“Jeez, Morty, you’re looking rough.” Rick takes a sip from his third can of beer and belches.

Morty yawns and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “Thanks, Rick. That’s just what every warm-blooded 15-year-old boy wants to hear.”

“ ** _Man,_** Morty. You’re not a child anymore. Hell, according to Jewish law, you’ve been a man for two years already.”

Morty narrows his eyes. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything? We’re not Jewish! We’re not even...I don’t know what the heck we are.”

“Well, remember last week when I told you I was Catholic? By that logic, since I’m more or less the _pater familias_ \- that’s Latin for ‘head of household,’ basically - you’re all Catholic by extension.”

“Uh, OK Rick.” Morty nods and smiles agreeably. As much as he loves Rick, he knows better than to try to contradict anything he says. Especially when he’s drunk. So always, pretty much.

“Well, I’ll see you tonight. I get off at 9.” Morty sighs and goes to change into his uniform. It’s not that he doesn’t like his job, per se. At $12 an hour to smile and nod and take orders, Morty knows he couldn’t have asked for a better first job.

It’s just that now that he’s working, he has fewer hours to spend with Rick. After putting on the dark bluish black T-shirt, apron, and slacks that comprise his uniform, Morty passes through the kitchen to say goodbye, and finds Rick fast asleep.


End file.
